by Kim Lawrence
‘Yes.’ Molly pressed a hand to her mouth. Bea was right—there was no other alternative. ‘This is terrible.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t be indebted to him like this.’
‘Why?’
‘Because—’ Molly broke off, shaking her head. ‘I’ll have to say thank you.’
‘He won’t want thanking.’
Molly felt her anger flare. ‘I don’t give a damn what he wants! I’m thanking him if I have to tie him down to listen.’
An interesting mental image accompanied this angry declaration, an image distracting enough to make it a full sixty seconds before she realised that Beatrice was staring at her, speculation written all over her face. Molly struggled to compose herself.
‘I’m afraid I’ve had a gut full of bossy men.’
‘God, those men!’ Beatrice rolled her eyes in comical exasperation. ‘When Tariq told me how they’d tried to force you into marrying Tair that way I couldn’t believe it!’ she exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust.
Molly turned her gaze to the toe of her shoe as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. ‘At least someone knows it would have been a total disaster.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Molly’s eyes lifted.
‘I think you and Tair would make a great couple.’ In response to the choking sound that emerged from Molly, the future queen of Zarhat lifted her brows and added with a twinkle in her eyes, ‘I mean, there was a frisson between you from the moment you met. Talk about steamy…?’
Molly felt the guilty colour flood her face. ‘I didn’t…I don’t even like him!’
Not like, maybe, but love, adore and feel empty without…Sometimes she felt ashamed of the weakness and her inability to summon up enthusiasm for anything else in life. God, she had turned into one of those people she had always despised!
‘I frequently don’t like Tariq even now,’ Beatrice admitted. ‘But I’m always crazy about him.’
‘That’s different.’ Because Tariq loved Bea. Molly felt a surge of envy and was ashamed of it. If anyone deserved to be happy it was Beatrice.
‘True,’ Beatrice admitted. ‘Actually, as things have turned out, you know, you were probably wise. But you already know that.’
I do? Molly gave a noncommittal grunt. ‘I think so.’
Although late at night when she couldn’t sleep it was sometimes less easy to be sure about her decision, especially since she’d realised that her night of desert passion had not been without consequences—long-lasting consequences.
She would have been tempted to offload the secret she had been unable to share with anyone on Beatrice had she not been concerned the news would filter through to Tariq. Not that Beatrice would deliberately betray a confidence, but Molly knew Bea was totally unable to conceal even the most minor detail from her husband.
There were other people who needed to know before her brother, and it was the reaction of one of those people that was occupying her thoughts to the exclusion of just about everything else at the moment.
Beatrice nodded. ‘Some people might think you had a narrow escape…’
Molly’s brow furrowed as she knew now that she was missing something. No female who’d met him would call passing on the chance to become the wife of Tair Al Sharif a narrow escape. They might speculate about the mental health of the person who declined, but they wouldn’t talk about narrow escape.
‘Escape?’
‘It sounds hard, but you’ve got to be practical, even if you are crazy mad in love with someone.’ Molly stiffened and then relaxed her guard fractionally as Beatrice added seamlessly, ‘Which you’re obviously not, but what I’m saying is…’ She stopped, clicking her tongue as she disentangled a fallen autumnal leaf from her bright hair, and Molly struggled to contain her impatience.
‘Where was I?’ Beatrice questioned once her hair was smooth and leaf-free. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, picking up her thread just before Molly imploded. ‘Even if a person were madly in love they’d think twice before they took on that sort of baggage.’
Molly swallowed her exasperation and wondered if Beatrice could be more vague if she tried. ‘What sort of baggage, Bea?’
‘Well, Tair’s future is not exactly secure with everything that’s going on.’
‘What?’ Apprehension lay like a cold stone in the pit of her stomach. She tried not to think the worst, although for that matter she didn’t know what the worst could be.
‘You haven’t heard, then?’ Beatrice asked, looking innocent as she studied Molly’s white face.
Molly gritted her teeth. ‘Heard what?’ She was seriously tempted to shake the information out of Beatrice. It would be worth being rugby-tackled by the bodyguard to be put out of her misery!
‘Well, just after you left, Tair’s father had a brain haemorrhage. They thought he would die, but he didn’t. He’s in what they call a persistent vegetative state. He could go tomorrow or stay like that for years, apparently.’
‘So what does that mean for Tair?’
‘He’s King in all but name.’
‘But you said it was insecure?’
Beatrice nodded. ‘Apparently Tair didn’t hang around. He has already made some pretty sweeping reforms and a lot of people who were on the gravy train in his father’s time are not happy bunnies. A few of the more influential ones have been stirring it, starting rumours, suggesting that there are better people for the job than Tair.’
Molly’s chest swelled with the strength of her indignation. ‘But there isn’t!’
Beatrice made a soothing gesture in the direction of her bodyguard, who had instinctively stepped forward.
Molly took a deep breath and moderated her tone. ‘They couldn’t oust him, could they?’
Beatrice gave a careless shrug. ‘Who knows?’
Molly had always liked Beatrice, but this callous display of indifference appalled her. ‘But he does have people who believe in him and what he’s trying to do?’
‘Tair does have a lot of support,’ Beatrice conceded, ‘but he doesn’t have an heir, and the cousin that his enemies would like to see on the throne does. An heir and God knows how many spares.’
Molly’s thoughts raced. ‘So you think that Tair might marry to solidify his position?’
Beatrice shrugged again. ‘He’s certainly under a lot of pressure to do just that,’ she admitted.
Molly gasped as a shaft of jealousy lanced through her with the viciousness of a knife blade. The thought of Tair married to a woman who would give him an heir and the requisite number of spares made her feel physically ill. The level of animosity she felt towards this unknown woman was shocking.
Molly could almost hear the sound of her shredded self-control finally snapping. ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘He can’t!’ She saw Beatrice’s expression and added quickly, ‘Nobody should be forced into marriage for political reasons.’
‘I know, but Tariq says Tair does have a very strong sense of duty. He thinks he’ll put his country before his own happiness. But enough of politics,’ she said, taking Molly’s arm and adopting a coaxing smile as she led her through the open park gates. ‘I came to invite you personally to my party.’
‘Party?’ Molly echoed, thinking she didn’t give a damn about parties right now.
‘A birthday party and, before you say a word, I promise there will be no kidnapping this time. Please come, Molly. It’s a double celebration—my birthday and you’ll be able to meet little Rayhan. He really is gorgeous,’ the proud mother declared, her face softening as she spoke of her baby son. ‘Please say you will. I know Tariq and Khalid want you to come. They still think you’re mad with them.’
‘I’m not…’
‘I know you’re not, but it won’t do them any harm to go on thinking that for a little while. They could both do with a dose of humility. So you will come?’
‘Will…will Tair be there?’ Molly asked casually.
‘Not if you don’t want
him to be.’
‘No, I’m fine. Don’t exclude him because of me.’
‘Well, I have to say, Molly, I really admire your attitude.’
Molly, conscious of her ulterior motives, gave a slightly guilty shrug. ‘Well, we’re all grown-ups, after all.’
Beatrice laughed. ‘I hope you’re excluding the men from that statement. Now, come on, I need a cup of tea and I saw a sweet little teashop when we were driving into the village.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I MIGHT,’ Molly conceded as she viewed herself in the full-length mirror, ‘have put on a few pounds since I bought this dress.’
‘In all the right places,’ Khalid inserted with a mock leer as he avoided the blow his pretty blond wife Emma aimed at his ear.
Molly joined in the laughter, but she cast a last worried look at her reflection before she joined the other members of her extended family.
The retro-fifties look of the ballerina-length full skirt with its layers of frothy petticoat had appealed to her the moment she’d tried it on and at the time the lightly boned bodice of her strapless creation had seemed relatively modest.
That was before she had moved from a modest B to an in-your-face C cup seemingly overnight.
The others left the room and Molly lingered, doubting her ability to face the throngs of people that waited in the ballroom below.
‘You look like a pole dancer,’ she told her reflection before she took a deep breath and responded to the distant appeal from Khalid to get a move on.
As she walked into the room Molly’s breath caught in her throat. Architecturally, the room, a vast hall with its mosaic floor and vaulted ceiling inlaid with gold and lapis, was always magnificent. But the interior decorators had gone to town for the party and the place literally sparkled. Not just with the banks of snow-white sweet-smelling lilies and the glittering décor, but the people, especially the women, were equally dazzling.
The collection of scintillating jewels around the ladies’ necks must be giving the security firm nightmares, Molly thought. They were certainly giving her confidence a severe battering.
People turned as they entered and, even though she knew they were not looking at her but the royal couples and the birthday girl in particular, Molly froze like a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights.
Then she heard Beatrice say in a sarcastic undertone to her husband, ‘I love your unique take on a few close friends, darling,’ and she relaxed a fraction. She felt better to realise that even the ultra-confident and elegant princess found walking into this daunting.
Tariq gave a shrug and admitted that things had got a little out of hand.
‘A little…?’ Beatrice snapped through a fixed smile.
‘Later we will have a little party all of our own.’
‘Our son might have other plans,’ Beatrice retorted before she turned to Molly. ‘Look, Molly, I’ve got to do the hostess stuff but Jean Paul will look after you, won’t you, Jean?’
A young man that Molly had not noticed stepped forward. He gave a little bow and smiled. ‘I’d be honoured.’
Beatrice and the family group moved away and Molly was left with the Frenchman. Clinging to her sense of purpose and hoping it would pass for poise, she lifted her chin and said, ‘You’re French.’
‘I am, and you are English?’
Molly nodded.
‘A real English rose. Would you like to dance?’
‘Not really,’ she said, her eyes scanning the crowd for one particular face. ‘But if you do, I don’t mind.’
Her companion looked amused. ‘Would I be right in thinking that you do want to dance but not with me?’
Molly’s eyes flew back to him, her expression contrite. ‘I’m sorry, that was so rude…It’s just I’m not very good at all this.’
‘Don’t worry, my manners are impeccable and I’m a diplomat, my father was a diplomat, my grandfather was a diplomat, so I am very, very good at all this.’
‘And modest.’
He gave a rueful sigh. ‘Alas, no, the modesty gene was never prominent in our family.’
Molly smiled and held out her hand. ‘Shall we start again? I’m Molly.’
‘Hello, Molly, I am Jean Paul.’ Instead of shaking her hand he bowed low and brushed it lightly with his lips in a courtly fashion, though the expression in his eyes as he lifted his head was not so courtly. He straightened up with her hand still in his.
‘Yes, you are very good at this.’ He clearly expected her to be charmed and Molly, kind at heart, tried to oblige, but it wasn’t easy. The man had the depth of a puddle. Slick and smooth really weren’t her thing.
Two months earlier she hadn’t known she had ‘a thing’, but now she knew it was blue eyes, a personality with more twists than a maze, a cruel tongue and a sinfully sensual mouth.
‘But underneath the beautiful manners I am a dangerous man.’
Molly, who had met a dangerous man, tried hard not to laugh at the extravagant claim.
‘Or at least I try to be—but do not worry. Tonight I am under strict orders from the lovely princess to behave. I got the impression you are looking for someone…?’
Molly didn’t deny it. ‘There is someone I need to speak with.’
‘And that someone is male…pity,’ the smooth Frenchman murmured with a soulful sigh when she didn’t correct him. ‘Perhaps I could help. I know everyone.’
Molly shook her head. ‘It’s not important,’ she lied.
‘Well, until you find who you are looking for, maybe you will allow me to entertain you.’
Molly shrugged. ‘Why not?’ she said, laying her hand on the arm that was offered to her and not protesting when a hand snaked around her waist.
‘So how are you going to entertain me, Jean Paul?’ She moved the hand that slipped to her bottom upwards and said firmly but without venom, ‘Not like that.’
He gave a philosophical shrug. ‘Oh, I don’t just know everyone, I know their secrets too. ‘
Not mine, I hope, Molly thought, smiling. She could see that given time this young man’s brand of brittle charm could wear pretty thin.
‘I could tell you stories—’
‘You mean you’re a gossip.’
‘I mean,’ he corrected, looking unoffended by the accusation, ‘that as a diplomat who wants to avoid putting his foot in it and causing offence it pays to know who is getting into bed with who. For instance,’ he said, pointing towards a dark-haired beauty in a dress that, though modestly cut, revealed the voluptuous ripe curves of her body, ‘not many people know it but that lady is destined to shortly become the wife of a very important man. One of the most important men in the region.’
‘Really?’ Molly said, pretending an interest. What was she going to do if Tair didn’t come?
What was she going to do if he did?
The truth was Molly didn’t have the faintest idea what she wanted to happen. Well, she did, but that was not an option because it required Tair to love her.
Every time she played the scene in her head it came out differently. It was, she kept telling herself, too pointless an exercise to speculate this way, but of course she continued to do so anyway.
The only thing left to do now was wing it. Play it by ear.
‘So as the wife of Tair Al Sharif she will be a woman to stay on the right side of.’
Molly came to a dead halt, the blood draining from her face as his words penetrated her private dialogue. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said she—’
Molly interrupted. ‘She’s engaged to Tair?’ Her eyes flew across the room to where the woman in question was holding court to a group of men who looked fascinated by every word she was saying.
She hadn’t noticed when Jean Paul had originally pointed the brunette out, but Molly could now see that there was an unattractive hardness about her mouth.
The men around her did not appear too repelled by this deficiency and Molly knew she was searching for flaws in wh
at was by anyone’s standard a woman pretty close to perfection. Well, she was only human!
‘Not officially, but according to my sources it’s only a matter of time. You know the Crown prince, Molly?’
Molly saw the speculation in the Frenchman’s eyes and produced a casual shrug from somewhere. ‘We have met.’
‘Not exactly an easy man, is he?’
Molly, who had called Tair a lot worse to his face, felt her hackles rise at the faintest hint of implied criticism in this observation. ‘I think he takes his responsibilities very seriously.’
‘Yes, well, he’s certainly shook a lot of people up.’
Including me.
‘Good evening, Molly.’
The breath left her lungs in one noisy gasp as she spun around, her skirts flaring around her legs like candyfloss.
‘Tair…’ She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like to hear his voice again, but then maybe there were some things that couldn’t be prepared for—and he was one of them.
The heat exploded in her belly and her legs began to tremble…Like her brothers, he was wearing full traditional dress and he looked incredible. Tall, lean, dangerous, vital and totally, unbelievably gorgeous…Her breath left her lungs in a series of soft fractured sighs as her eyes greedily drank in the details. There weren’t enough superlatives to describe the way he looked.
The Frenchman’s poise had been momentarily shaken when he’d seen the object of his speculation standing feet away, but he recovered quickly, producing his hand and a brilliant smile. ‘Prince Tair.’
Tair, at his most regal or, as Molly privately phrased it, at his most incredibly rude, turned his head sharply, ignoring both the younger man’s friendly overtures and the hand extended to him.
Molly found herself staring deep into his blazing blue unblinking stare, which did not improve her ability to think past the primitive impulse to throw herself at him.
Tair continued to blank the other man totally and kept his eyes trained on Molly’s face with an intensity that was drawing a number of curious glances.
‘This is Jean Paul.’
Tair inclined his head briefly towards the Frenchman.
